Dream Kings
by calicokitty111
Summary: Dreams. We do not think much of them. They are part of who we are. That is usually all we see. But what if you encountered a dream that changed who you were? For better or worse.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Paw Patrol. I only own the characters I create. Please review, so I know if I am doing ok or if I should step up my efforts.**

Chapter 1

Marshal tossed and turned in his sleep. He felt sweaty and uncomfortably hot. His dreams made no sense, a cascade of colors and voices. His mind was boggled.

He shot up from his bed, but he wasn't in his dog house. His bed was a soft, down filled mattress covered in satin sheets and crimson pillows. His sheets were darkened from the profuse amount of sweat that was dripping from his body.

He looked around his new environment. The room was decorated with dimly lit candles and several vases of beautifully molded clay and a finely decorated tile floor. A bookshelf with thick books with titles written in a strange language adorned the left wall, a language tracker had shown him a while back. He had called it _Turkish_ or something.. Strangely, he could read it. One of them was finer than the rest. It said _Quran_ on the spine.

He leapt down from the bed and stumbled, feeling somewhat lightheaded. He leaned on the need for support and looked at the oak door that lead out of the room. Dim lights shined through the cracked opening like sunshine, and while the rest of the room was dark, with hewn stone walls, a stained glass window was on the wall opposite to the doorway.

He heard hurried footsteps from the hall, fleet and light. Marshal turned to the door just as it was pushed open. A young boy, no older than eight, stumbled through. He wore loose, green and teal robes and teal pants. He wore old, ripped sandals and his hair was cut short.

The boy was gasping for breath. "Thank Allah, your here! Your father! H- he wishes for your presence in his room. There isn't much time!"

Marshal was about to argue. It couldn't have been true. His father had died while fighting a fire upstate only a few weeks after he was born. His mother had died from cholera a few weeks later. His parents were gone.

Marshal was about to argue, but the boy spoke up again. "please excuse my rudeness, but your father is on his deathbed! He doesn't have much time!"

This caught Marshals attention. Even with the absurdity of the situation, if someone was about to die, he had to try and help. He simply nodded, and the boy raced out of the dark room, Marshal in pursuit. Servants and guards dodged and swerved around them, many carrying food and drink, others produce and supplies. Some called out his name, Marshal, while others yelled at the boy in anger.

After a few sharp turns through the crowded corridors and misdirections, they made it to another wing of bedrooms, many of which had closed and locked doors. One was open, with the same dim lights from Marshal's room. It smelled of incense and oils, and other tantalizing scents. The boy rapidly knocked on the door, and a buff man stepped through, with tan skin and a bald head and thick stubble.

The stout man seemed to notice Marshal's presence. "It is an honour, young Prince. I am Ikiz Remzi, and this is my apprentice, Yilma. I am the Medicus of Edirne. Ikiz must have noticed Marshal's surprised expression, because he chuckled. "Yes, I know what you are thinking. A burly man like me, a medicus. I can tell you that story later. For now, your father wishes to speak his final words to you. Alone, before he surely passes."

"Do you think he'll make it?", questioned marshal. He half hoped that his 'father' would survive, because whatever realistic dream this was, he could use some guidance.

Ikiz shook his head. "I doubt it. Go, you must speak with your father."

Marshal hung his head. The medicus opened the door and Marshal stepped through, only to see a disturbing sight. An old Dalmatian, no older than forty, was strewn haphazardly across the large, satin coated bed. A large arrow protruded from his chest, an a green crust was built around the entry point. He was in the middle of a coughing fit as marshal entered.

What really spooked marshal, was that he actually looked like _his father_ , the one that raised him as a pup. His eyes were the same chocolate brown color, no matter if they were coated with crust and bloodshot. He a pained smile in his face. He even looked at the ceiling the way his father would when he was nervous or thinking, which this dog could have been doing either.

His father seemed to notice him, as he beckoned him closer. "Come, my son. There isn't much time." His voice was raspy.

"You wished to see me?" Said Marshal.

His father gave him a smile, before he descended into another coughing fit. When he calmed down, he looked into Marshal's eyes with the same pained expression. "Well, that old fool, Hunyadi… I guess he was right about one thing. My life would end, just not at Varna." He coughed more. "At least the Polish king, Wladyslaw, that bastard, is dead. He was a menace. But no doubt Ladislaus of Austria will benefit…" His words trailed off as he lost focus and stared up at the ceiling. He seemed almost ashamed, as if he had failed, but he hid it under a well crafted smile.

He looked at Marshal again, his tone serious. "We all must die. I know you are young, but you will make a fine ruler. I will pass, but not before I hand my greatest gift onto you. The clergy will crown you tomorrow, in my… absence." He seemed disturbed by it, having the clergy, whoever they were, control the state. "You must continue on this journey without me. We both know Osman did not toil for us in vain." He turned his head to the other side of the bed, and Marshal swore he heard his father whisper 'I hope'.

His father relaxed under the satin sheets and closed his eyes. "Now, let me sleep. My time will come, but until then, I have much to think about."

His father's raspy, labored breath and the occasional ruckus of the growing wind where the only noises in the room. He just stood there, frozen in shock. He didn't know what to think, what to do, what to say, if he should have even done anything. It smelled of sickness and sorrow now, the exotic spices gone.

Someone knocked on the door. It was Ikiz. He covered his face with a clean rag and entered the room. "I'm sorry, my prince, But we must leave before the sickness takes you as well. The last thing we need would be for you to end up sicker than you are.

Marshal looked up at Ikiz and nodded glumly. He gave his father one last look, before he would be buried.

0 0 0

Marshal awoke to the sound of thunder. It wasn't to loud, just the occasional soft rumble, but he hated it less. Something about seeing his father die in front of him made him less… childish. It was a horrible feeling.

He sat up and looked around, studying the room some more, the things he hadn't noticed before. The walls were a plain white color. The ceiling was flat and the same color as the walls. The floor was a smooth tile, cool and crisp, like walking in the rain.

Maybe out of irony, the thunder shook the sky again, like it was reminding him it _was_ raining. It reminded him that he had work to do. He got out of bed and the first thing he felt was the _cold_. It nipped him like a needle. He noticed he wasn't dressed in anything besides a necklace of silver beads and a silver ornament shaped like a crescent moon with a gleaming star in the center.

The realization hit him like a bullet. That symbol, Alex's grandfather had shown it to him before. It was the symbol of Islam. He didn't know much about the religion except for the fact that the people who followed that faith didn't care for christians to much, a faith that his family had followed by the book… literally. He began to silently panic. If they found out he was catholic, they would flip, not to mention that the Clergy were crowning him today!

He started to take deep breaths, calming himself down. It wouldn't help him if he panicked. Pacing back and forth, Marshal pondered on what to do.

He could pretend to be Islamic, but that was very risky. The Clergy would surely find out, and he would be killed. He could also confess his problems to someone who could help him curb the Clergy, but the more he thought about that, the more unsure about it he felt. He had no connections, no allies. He had just became king, or whatever they called it, Padishah? He had to focus on how he could solve the problem now.

He looked at the holy book on the wall and a horrible thought hit him.

What if he became Islamic?

To him it seemed like a stretch, but what choice did he have? He pulled the book off the shelf and stared at it. It was finely decorated and made of paper and soft leather. Marshal opened the holy book and look at the beginning page, the one that was meant to be empty. Surprisingly, it had writing on it.

 _Wash yourself before you pray, Marshal. To not would be a sin. Put yourself into a state of physical and mental purity, so your soul may be pure as well._

 _Sincerely, The Beholder._

He looked at the page in shock, almost dropping the book on the cold floor. Somebody here was breaking the fourth wall. He looked at the page again, and the writing was gone.

He was about to ponder his next move when a soft knock on his door.

"Who is it?"

"It is me, Ikiz. May we talk? I need to see if you are well, and there is a guest here for you."

"Come in.", Marshal croaked.

Ikiz opened the door. He was dressed similarly, except he wore a hat to protect from the rain. He also seemed at peace, more than yesterday at least.

"Your father… he passed last night.", he said, "The people from the surrounding provinces as far as Ankara came to weep for him and pray to Allah at our only mosque. His body has been buried in the courtyard, if you wish to see his grave."

Marshal nodded quietly. Ikiz nodded in response, almost nervously. He left with the door open, and was speaking to someone outside of the door.

Ikiz came into the room again. "We must go soon. You are to be crowned padishah today at noon."

"Of course", Marshal remarked, "my worst nightmare."

Ikiz chuckled. "Is it the thought of ruling an empire, or is it that you don't think you are fit to rule?

Marshal sighed, "both."

"You were chosen by Allah to rule, you were given the place of your father and his father before that. You were given the place of Osman, the place of Padishah. Allah has faith in you, and so do I."

"I thank you for support. I can see hard times ahead", Said Marshal, "besides, I have a crowning soon. There is no compromise."

The medicus bowed his head in respect. "You will make a good leader."

Marshal looked out the east window. "I hope."

Izik nodded. "The servants have run you a bath in the West wing. Breakfast is in the grand hall."

Marshal nodded and then looked back at the window. He remembered what was written in the book.

 _Bathe before you pray. Stay in a state of mental and physical purity._

He thought about it, and then left his room for the baths.

He had to much to do and not enough time.

0 0 0

Chase didn't know what to think.

He woke up in a very comfortable bed. It was early morning, he could tell. The air smelled of rain. Then he noticed a window next to his bed was open.

The room was simple but roomy, with a few pieces of furniture here and there, and two candles lit on the nightstand to the left of his bed.

He got out of bed. The floor was hard oak. The door was the same. The entire room had to much space.

A knock on the door sounded. He looked at the door as the same knocks sounded again and again. Then it ceased. He checked outside the door. The occasional guard walked by, but it was strange. They were dressed with strong chainmail and helmets with nose guards. They had the colors red and white dyed into their uniforms.

He walked back into the room and say back on the bed. He didn't know where he was but he knew it wasn't home. He had to find a way out.

Before he could devise a plan, more knocking came from the door. A gruff voice sounded from the other side. "Come on, Archduke Chase, the Coronation is today. We have much to do.

Chase was even more clueless. He got up and opened the door. A guard, better dressed than the others, was there. He wore a badge in his right shoulder and had a sword instead of a spear and shield like the other guards.

"You take forever. I cannot believe Bishop Francisco assigned me to babysit you. We should be out there, fighting those Turkish infidels!"

Another voice came from down the hall, more suave and younger. "With both Wladyslaw and Ladislaus dead, it would be suicide. The Balkans are already in chaos. Hungary is already trying to fend off peasant turned rebels in Belgrade. They could approach Wein any day now."

"Quiet, Alfonzo. You may be the right hand man of Francisco, but you don't know war like I do. Those Turks will take Belgrade in the coming years if no action is taken."

The two seemed to forget that Chase was there. He coughed mockingly and looked at the Guard captain with displeasure. The captain looked at Chase again and then the young Bishop in training.

"This isn't over.", The Guard captain spat.

The young Bishop rolled his eyes and left. Leaving chance and the Guard captain alone.

"Freshen up. You will be crowned in an hour."

And with that he left.

Chase looked down the hall. The guard captain pushed his way through the servants and slaves working in the baths and the personal rooms of the local nobility. The place smelled of beeswax and burning wood

He kindly asked one of the servants where the bath house was. Apparently, it was outdoors, near the Spanish gardens. as he walked out, the guards, both Spanish and Austrian, greeted him kindly.

When he exited the main castle, he smelled the mix of morning dew and fresh honeysuckle. The rich aroma of a roasting boar in the distance mixed with it to make him relax. He saw the bath house, a rectangular building with a tiled roof and steam emitted from the open windows. The entire garden was well kept, rose bushes lined across the walls, rich orchids hung high in bundles, and a clear pond sat in the center of the garden itself. The entire estate was criss-crossed with cobblestone paths.

He gaped at the simplistic beauty of the garden. The grass was well kept, and so were the flowers and the walls. He looked back at the bathhouse, eager to see what was inside.

As he opened the door, he saw the steam bath in the center of the floor, a good 12 by 7 feet. It was stone, but the whole bathhouse was still well kept. It had several woolen towels and two bottles of chilled wine in a bucket of ice.

He eased himself into the bathroom and, the warm water soaking his fur. He just sat there with nothing to do.

After a few minutes, he began to think of the absurdity of the situation. He was in some random place, seemingly in medieval times, and Considered some sort of ruler.

Maybe it was all a dream. He hoped it was.

He apparently was being crowned soon. He didn't know why or how. But apparently he was important here. Chase didn't want to be.

Chase, although a police officer, didn't like to be an Authority figure when he didn't have to. He would rather be part of the community than a looming eye, watching and waiting for problems to arise. It drove him insane when things went sour.

He definitely did not want to be a ruler. It scared the wits out of him, more than needles. He would rather participate than lead.

Someone poked their head into the bathroom

A young man, About twenty years old. He had a thick goatee and short hair. He wore a guards uniform, More ornate than the average guard, but less decorated than the guard captain.

"My Lord, the guard captain requests you in the balcony. The there, you will be crowned. I am here to escort you there.

Chase sighed and stepped out of the bath. A servant handed him his royal robes and he stepped out of the bathhouse.

It was going to be a long day.

0 0 0

Chase was nervous beyond belief.

He did not want to be crowned. He did not want to be king. He did not want to rule.

Yet he was about to.

He could hear the noise of the large crowd beyond the doors. They were waiting for him. Waiting for him to be crowned.

He did not want to be here.

At least the two guards escorting him gave him support.

One was the guard from before, the one who escorted him from the bathhouse. The other was younger, a regular guard, with the standard armour and a sword.

"Do not worry, my Lord. You will be fine. The 't going to throw tomatoes at you."

Chase chuckled and looked at the doors. He could hear trumpets now. The crowning was about to start.

The doors opened and he stepped through. The crowd cheered and several figures were standing on the balcony, finely dressed barons, bishops and foreign dignitaries, and one man that stood out from the rest.

 _The pope._

He wore the Pope's crown, his holy robes and other fine trinkets. By his side were the bishops Francisco and Alfonzo, as well as several other important religious figures.

The pope greeted him with a warm smile. "It is good to finally meet you, my young prince. I hope you know why we are here."

"To crown me king of Austria?", croaked Chase.

"Not just Austria. You have inherited several territories from the crusades, as you are the only one able to govern them. You have inherited both Bohemia and Hungary."

Chase almost fainted. More territory to control.

But the Pope wasn't finished.

"The Electors are here to choose the Holy Roman Emperor. The Candidates are here, as well as the Electors. If they choose you, you will rule Germany."

This was bad.

He was not prepared to rule such a massive territory. He was just a pup. He didn't even know how vast Austria was, not to mention Hungary and Bohemia. Now he could have Germany in his hands as well.

The Electors and Candidates stepped onto the balcony, bowing to the Lord of the keep and the soon to be king of Austria, Chase. They then stepped in front of the Pope, bowing respectfully to him as well.

The leader of the electors, a knightly man, tall and proud, the epitome of a warrior, stepped forward. "Your holiness, the Electors have come to an agreement. The Holy Roman Emperor has been chosen, in all his grace and glory!"

The Pope nodded his head solemnly. "You may proceed, Ludwig."

The Candidates shuffled their feet nervously. Some more than others.

The electors all stepped forward.

The first one stepped forward, a plump man in fine robes. "I, Olbert of the Palatinate, choose Chase, Rightful heir to the throne of Austria, as the

Emperor."

The second stepped forward, a short but rough man with a thick beard. He wore a simple mail under cloth cover with his coat of arms. "I, Andreas of Frankfurt, choose Chase, Rightful heir of the throne of Austria, as the Emperor."

Several more stepped forward, rich rulers of Germany pledging their loyalty to him. In the end, the vote was decided. Everyone unanimously voted for Chase.

"Thank you, all of you", said the Pope, "you are all dismissed. The journey back will be long and arduous, I assure you."

The electors bowed. The lead electors stepped forward. "Thank you, your holiness."

Then they left, leaving Chase with the Pope, the cheering crowd, and the Candidates, all giving him stony glares.

The pope turned his gaze to the crowd. "The emperor has been chosen!" The crowd howled in delight, waving their arms and shouting 'long live the king'

Then the Pope turned to the candidate. "You all are dismissed. Go home to your keeps. There is much to do."

The Candidates all left, leaving Him and the Pope.

The Pope gave him a small smile. "You should go and join the feast. They are waiting for you. At least try to impress the nobility."

And the Pope left through the doors behind him, and leaving Chase alone with his thoughts.

 **Jeez**

 **I know I may not be the best writer, but this is just a little idea I had bobbing in my head for a while, and after some refinement, I was just dying to get it down on paper.**

 **Please do review. It tells me what you guys want and what direction I take this. I have some plans that I have in place, and those will be part of the story that will not change, but character deaths and betrayals, thoughts, and ideas are welcome. Also, should Marshal become a Muslim? I never thought I would be asking this question to anyone, Lol. Leave your thoughts down below.**

 **CM out.**


	2. Chapter 2

0 0 0

Marshal was having a bad day.

First, he woke up. He had found out his father had passed, and fell into a predicament with his own inner religious turmoil.

Now he entered the outer courtyard. Several figures trees dominated the sandstone keep. Servants pulled carts of supplies and guards patrolled around the arched doors.

But the real attraction was the group of Imams and other priestly figures. were arguing about several very secular topics that would take Marshal years to unravel. It made him want to wet his pants.

One of the Imams spotted Marshal, then alerted the other Imams. They bowed in front of Marshal, then the leading Imam addressed him.

"Greetings, my prince. It is an honor to serve you."

Chase nervously greeted them. Then he began to ask questions in a quiet tone. "When is the Crowning?"

The lead Imam spoke again. Within the hour, my prince. The arrangements for the feast are coming along nicely. I do not know the details, but the head chef and the guards had seen the guests and diplomats of the foreign dignitaries ride in earlier, through the northern pass."

"Thank you. Who will be crowning me?"

An older and no doubt wiser Imam stepped through the small group. He wore white robes in contrast to the other's teal robes, and had a white beard and hair. As old as he may be, he still had a twinkle in his eyes.

"I will, my prince. The ceremony will begin when the last of the dignitaries enter the gates of the castle."

Marshal nodded, nervously. The last thing he wanted was foreign dignitaries at his doorstep. They could only mean trouble.

A low horn sounded across the castle courtyard. Several guards were alerted and opened the gates. Several soldiers, armed with falchions and shields, and wore. turbans and tunics of teal cloth. One was ahead of the rest.

"Ahmed Abaza, Sultan of the Mamluks, rightful rulers of Syria and Egypt!"

And in came a platform carried by four slaves. And on it sat a man in richly decorated robes and gold and silver jewels. He had a jeweled crown over a turban.

But his face told Marshal everything he needed to know.

He had a cruel face, angular and strong, with dark brown eyes and a thick goatee. He looked at Marshal with pure hatred before putting on a neutral face for diplomacy.

As he entered the courtyard, he jumped off the platform and walked towards him, beckoning his guards.

"Why hello, little prince.", The Sultan snarled, "Are you still wetting your diaper?"

Marshal simply glared at him, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. He didn't deserve one. People like him craved attention.

The Sultan let out a cruel chuckle. "Quiet, just like your father. He never did anything."

The old imam spoke up, challenging the Sultan. "He fought half of Europe, Sultan Ahmed, you act like he was a simple administrator, like your predecessor."

The Sultan looked the at the imam with hatred, then backhanded him to the ground. The old man struggled to rise to his feet, squirming as the vile man forced a leather boot on his chest.

"You shall not talk to royalty in such a way, you peasant."

But the imam only chuckled. "How do you feel, harming one of Allah's servants?"

The Sultan snarled. "You are nothing but an impudent worm under my boot, you pauper."

Marshal had to do something, before the old imam was killed.

"Stop this madness, Ahmed, before you kill him!'

"He deserves death!"

"And you deserve to leave this place, now!", Shouted Marshal, venom seething in his words.

The cruel Ahmed looked Marshal in the eye, a look of pure hatred. "I am Sultan. You are but a boy. You have no right to speak up to me."

But it was Marshal's turn to tell the vile man off. "You are but a guest in my court, expected to be humbled, as everyone else. If you will not respect me, then you will leave this place, and never return."

The Sultan looked at Marshall incredulously, shocked that Marshal would speak to him I'm such a way.

"You-"

"Leave, Ahmed", growled Marshal, "now"

The Sultan turned around, looking at the guards watching the spectacle, and knowing he was outnumbered, muttered a dozen or so curses under his breath, and boarded his seat on the platform, the servants carrying him to his galley.

Marshal helped the old imam up, him holding his own chest where the boot had been, and coughing wildly.

"Thank you, young Sultan, you may have just saved my life."

Marshal gave him a warm smile. "Nobody touches my subjects, especially not a servant of Allah."

Marshal almost choked on his words. He didn't know why he said that last part. It felt genuine to him, but why. He wasn't Muslim, at least, not yet.

Marshal decided to drop it, knowing it would only cause him more of a headache than he already had.

The old imam stood tall and proud, beside Marshal, and prepared for the ceremony.

"With the guests arrived and Sultan Ahmed ridden from the court, the time has come for our young prince to become Sultan!"

The crowd that had gathered, both local and guest alike, cheered, shouting Marshal's name. He blushed, but regained his composure as they walked through the open courtyard and into the throne room of the castle, a small but lavishly decorated hall with a small throne at the end. A banquet was laid upon a beautifully carved table in the center.

On the table, decorative bowls held plums, figs, and grapes, while platters held a mix of aromatic

cheeses and spiced meats. Jugs held black tea, coffee, and a sweet yogurt drink. There were bowls of aromatic soup and a spit fired goat in the center.

The crowd shuffled in, as the guests sat farther from his seat, a richly ornate chair carved from birch wood. It was slightly taller and had a cushioned seat. He walked across the hall to his chair and sat last, the court looking at him. The imams stood behind him, the eldest holding the ottoman crown, a silken turban adorned with gold and jewels.

"Before we eat", declared the oldest imam, "we must acknowledge that we are blessed by Allah to have such a capable young prince, who will soon rule that mighty ottoman state. May his reign be long and prosperous!"

The whole hall clapped, the sound of applause echoing off the walls and ceiling. The imam placed the turban upon his head, and gracefully bowed to Marshal.

"I live to serve, Sultan."

0 0 0

Marshal lay dormant in his room, on his bed, that same bed he had awoken this morning. The sheets had been changed and the smell of sickly sweat had been removed, but it still held the memories.

The bookshelf was the same, as well as the furniture and the open window. The same Quran sat on the shelf, the most elegant book there.

He was covered in his sheets, relaxing. It had began to rain outside, soaking the earth. It grew cold out, the late November storm bringing in the cold from the Eastern mountains.

He may have been relaxed, but his mind was wound up like a spring. He still hadn't decided if he should become muslim yet, because his Catholic family, or at least, what was left of it. He only had his aunt Janice and his uncle Robert and their two daughters left, and they still reminded him to go to church every Sunday, even though there was no church in Adventure bay.

He still loved them deeply, like the parents he never lost. They took care of him until he left the academy, and had made sure he was happy. He also missed Beatrice and Sharlene, their two daughters. Both were into science and physics, and had scholarships to go to college.

But as much as he loved them, he had continued to drift apart from them, due to their strict adherence to the old Catholic ways and their 'perfect family' attitude. They always wanted to be the family that everyone looked up to, the great next door neighbors. They were also extremely religious, always praying and they all went to church three days a week.

Marshal simply couldn't handle it anymore. The week he left, they got into a huge fight, Marshal angry because of how strict they were and his family angry because of Marshal's… choice words. Needless to say, they stayed apart for a while. They had eventually made up, but his family never looked at him the same way again.

But he was also very hesitant to jump feet first into a new religion, it was like swimming in the ocean. A new tide might drag you out to sea and you would just have to swim back again. He felt very… peculiar and uneasy about the entire subject.

A knock on the door dragged him from his thoughts, and as he let them in, another young servant walked in, carrying a tray of black tea and a small platter of salty cheese and fresh bread, the aroma mixing to create a potently attractive scent.

The servant sat the small tray on the nightstand and bowed respectfully, then returned out the door and to his quarters. The food reminded him of the feast earlier, a large spectacle of Muslim dancers and performers along with stories and delicious food. They had also partaken in prayer, but it felt… joyful, and lenient compared to prayer at his Uncle's house. He had also met some very interesting women at the banquet as well, young women who claimed to be concubines. Marshal did not know what that meant, but it sounded like a very personal word.

They were all very pretty hounds, but one had caught his eye, and lightly spotted dalmatian named _Teodora_. Her name even sounded unique and exotic, like queen from a far off land. But what really caught his eye was the twinkle in her eye and her witty jokes, but also her reserved attitude. She was polite, respectful, and very kind, although Marshal had guessed it may had all been a shell, because he was Sultan.

Another strike of thunder sounded, shaking him out of his thoughts and making him jump under the covers. It had been raining since the end of the banquet, and the guests had left on their ships hours ago. He had a long day, and he needed to sleep.

Sleeping in a dream. How quant.

Rocky awoke to the smell of a hot mountainside.

It was so hot, like he was inside an oven. Then he noticed he was inside a small room, walls made of sandstone, and the window was open, without cover.

He was laying in a bedroll, no bedframe, and inside the room we're a few small dressers and a small table.

He didn't know where he was. It felt medieval, but also very… different. The heat from the window proved that this was not anywhere he knew before, because Adventure Bay had been a cold place, in northern Oregon. This place felt like a desert.

But the next thing that surfaced was the fact that he was inside a room with sandstone walls. He had no recollection of such a place.

As he was thinking, someone first into his room, One with a small goatee and thick and curly black hair.

"The castle, it is in ruins, we have been raided…"

"W-wha?", Asked Rocky, unsure of what to make of the situation. He didn't know this man, much less trust his word.

"Horsemen, from the East. They were quick like lightning, and stormed the town. People have been injured beyond belief.

That snapped Rocky into attention. If people were hurt, then he would help.

He charged out of the room, following the man out to the front courtyard, where the gate was indeed, in ruins. The castle was on a mountain pass, on the foothills. The area was dominated by a sandstone landscape, rugged and searing hot, and the front courtyard showed, with a few citrus trees and date palms. Open air tables dominated the courtyard, and several guards holding their ground by the gates, bows ready, in case the attackers returned.

Farther down the pass, the village burned. It sat on the dry farmland, the only farmland around. Small gates for sheep and cows were set up around the village, but otherwise, it was undefended. Guards were rescuing the villagers and bringing the injured up to the small fortress.

A small temple of sorts was the only building that was spared. The gates to the inside we're closed, and the windows were sealed shut. A crescent moon with a star in the center was the ornate decoration on the domed roof.

Another few guards jogged out from the fortress, some obviously injured. A total of twenty stood before him, ready for orders. They all wore thick leather armor and helmets and carried composite bows and sabers.

The one in front, an officer of sorts, stepped forward. He wore better armor, and looked older and more rugged, like he had fought much of his life. He gave a whole hearted salute, and the rest of them followed in suite.

"My Shiekh, the raiders have left, but the town is still in chaos. What are your orders?"

Rocky was stunned. He had no clue what to do. He never really gave orders when he performed his duties, he rather fixed things and help Rubble clear the debris. He had no experience in leading.

He looked down at the town. It was burning to ash. He couldn't let it burn. A burnt town is a useless town.

"Gather both the guards and the civilians, and get water to put out the fires. We cannot lose the town, less they come back and raid the fortress."

And that is what they did. Rocky rushed down with them, helping put out the blaze and save civilians from the rubble.

He helped search house after house, dragging soot covered, burned and sweaty, but _Alive_ people out of the ruins. He had suffered some burns himself, but shrugged them off. He had to help people.

As he charged into one of the larger huts, a three room cottage with mud walls and a flat mud roof, he was greeted by the foul stench of a burning goat and broken, burning roof beams. There were voices in another room, people muttering.

He crashed through a pile of burning wood and found himself in a crumbling kitchen, a mother cradling her baby, waiting for the inevitable to happen. He wouldn't let the flames consume her.

"Come on! The house is collapsing, we need to leave, NOW!"

She looked up at him in amazement, and picked herself up, her headscarf and all, and carried her baby out of the burning kitchen. The hall was lined with more rubble, which he burst through and cleared a path to freedom.

And just as they had exited the door, the roof caved in, succumbing to the constant sapping of the flames. The mother looked shell shocked, her home destroyed and her savings gone. But at least she had her life. With that, she could earn it all again.

She turned to him, cradling the crying baby in her arms. "Thank you, for you saved my life, and the life of my son. Is there any way to repay you, my Shiekh?"

Rocky shook his head, giving her a warm smile. She nodded, bowed respectfully, and left him to his own devices.

Now it was time for him to get some damn answers.

0 0 0

He sat in the courtyard of the castle, along with several men that claimed to be his… advisors. One was an older man, with the same Crescent moon symbol from the temple weathervane around his neck. He wore simple robes and leather sandals.

The one across from him was a big burly man, like a bull. He wore similar armor as the men outside, but it was cleaner, sturdier, and we'll decorated. He also had a thick beard and a white turban on. A saber hung at his side, and a bow was on his back.

The third and final 'advisor' was a wealthy, dark skinned man, a foreigner by the looks of him, with a shaved head and thick mustache. He wore trinkets, jewelry, and the fine robes of a merchant, but also carried a scimitar on his back.

In the center of the table was a map of the surrounding lands, a mountainous region dominated by small tribal cities, similar to the one he resided in. They each had small fortresses and some land suitable for farming, but we're mostly confined to hunting mountain goats and herding sheep. None had walls, and his had one of the few fortresses within the mountain range. The only reason it seemed he was attacked was because his city lied on the outskirts of the range, near the open desert and on the far Western edge of the Indus Delta.

His personal guards, men wearing a leather vest and boots, as well as thick robes and turbans, stood by the doors and guarded the halls. They carried scimitars and sabers, as well as composite bows. The turbans covered their faces, so only their eyes showed. They were menacing on their own without the few cannons outside, on the walls of the small fortress, guarding the entrance and promising a gruesome death to any who trespassed.

The main advisor, the large guard, pointed at the mountain range. "These are the eleven major tribes, all hidden within their own fortresses and they all have their own armies and rulers." He then pointed at the first tribe, near the foothills. "This is us, Kalat. We are wedged between the Sunni Sultans of the east and the Shiite Sheikhs of the west. We are a primary target for a multitude of enemies, mainly because we sit on the most fertile land between the mountains, the Small plot that borders us and the Indus."

He then pointed a little to the north, to another tribe. "This is Kandahar, another powerful tribe and our rival clan. They have attacked us before, and no doubt would they do so again. They probably helped guide the Sultan's forced through the mountain pass, otherwise they would have lost half their army from attrition alone, and the other half would have deserted them.

Rocky looked at the map, seeing the different tribes. There were many of them, all small City states and fortresses. He also saw the Sultanates to the east, a small empire sprawled out over the river valley. He could see their capital, Delhi, a city that dwarfed his own.

And something clicked.

"This wasn't just a simple raid… no, this was different. Why would our rival help the Sultan, knowing full well once we fell they would be the next target. This was part of something bigger.", Stated Rocky. "The clansmen of Kandahar used the Sultan to soften us up, so they could move in for the kill."

The Guardsman looked at him wearily. "What you say is not only a very risky move for them, but also a very dishonourable one. The Clansmen would not partake in such an action, especially not with heretics and heathens. What brews between the Sultans and Shahs are centuries of religious strife and social instability, since the end of the Timur's invasion. The shah of Kandahar would rather die than Ally themselves with such filth."

"When was the last time we heard from them, threat or otherwise?", Asked Rocky. This couldn't be a coincidence, "And you did say the Sultan's forces would have perished without native help."

"For payment, not a political maneuver. For all we know, the old bag, Seli, may as well be counting coins in his keep."

The foreign merchant only chuckled. "Either way, if he was involved, this is no less than an act of war. The Kandahari partook in aggressive actions, and this is a Clear chance to strike."

"With what, fearful peasants, dead men? We have no army, just a small Garrison. And might I remind you, half that Garrison is either dead or injured. We do not have the manpower to raid such a fort.", Snapped the Guardsman, "Not to mention the walls are just as thick as ours. If the Sultan's army couldn't breach ours, then we certainly can't breach the ones in Kandahar!"

The merchant chuckled. "The first part is between you and the Sultan. The second is my task.", He said slyly, his thick accent sticking out like a sore thumb. He rolled out a small scroll, with a design on it… no, a blueprint.

"This is a little idea me and some… associates have dreamed up with a little or our spare time. Several of these should be sufficient to take down the walls, don't you agree?"

The Guardsman snatched up the scroll irritably, and began to decipher it. As he read, his eyes widened.

"We do not have the money to build one of these, not to mention several! We cannot just pull money out of a hat!"

"Yet we have the cannons on the walls."

The guard captain looked ready to explode. "Those were gifts from the Timur, given to us almost a century ago! They are old, rusted, chipped, and too small to be effective against the walls!"

The Merchant just looked at him. "I'm not saying that we will use them, I'm simply saying that if we can use those cannons for over a century, then we can easily use more. It isn't like our people are new to cannons."

Within the midst of the argument, the older man piped up. "Taking Kandahar is fine and good, bit we still must discuss the safety of the town. We have no walls, no fortifications. Half our Garrison is out of commission. We need to be able to defend ourselves before we can expand. Doing the opposite is like a cat exposing it's stomach during a fight."

Both the merchant and the Guardsman looked at each other, and they nodded. "That should be primary concern, although might I remind you walls are expensive. We cannot just snap our fingers and walls rise up from the ground.", Stated the Guardsman, "and we cannot build it ourselves without a mason at our disposal."

Then the merchant perked up. "And that is where I come in. My associates and I have some resources at our disposal. I can track down a mason in the area. It will take some time, though. My suggestion is to replenish the Garrison and see how you can find the money to afford this. Of all goes well, the Sultans won't attacking us anymore."

And with that, the merchant left. The Guardsman excused himself and did the same.

And how do we fund all this? That is the question swimming in your head, isn't it?", Said the older man,"I may be no treasurer, bit your father entrusted me with his treasury. He had saved up a small fortune for an event like this, enough to pay for everything and more. All we need is time."

Rocky nodded. "how long until you think the Merchant will have his mason?"

The old man chuckled. "Give him a few days. He'll have everything we need ready to go. Hopefully, the Guardsman will not object to the invasion after we are secure. The cannons are a good idea."

Rocky wanted to ask questions, but everything still felt so… real, like he hadn't fallen asleep. He didn't want the old man to think he was insane. So he followed along. Besides, what better way to find out the answers then to go with the flow.

So time to play the part.

"He doesn't need to agree with me. I am Sheikh. He just has to follow my orders."

The old man chuckled. "True, true. He was always a stubborn one, though. Even more so than Azul. At least that merchant hid it well."

"Now, let's take inventory, shall we?", said the old man, "Arslan, Historian and Natural Scientist, at your service."

 **As always, PLEASE REVIEW!**


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